Fallout: Exiled
by Bazooka Republic
Summary: After Arthur Maxson assumed the rank of Elder. A group of East Coast Brotherhood of Steel members are exiled for rebellion on the condition that they can return if they do recon in the southern states and then return with what technology they can carry. In their quest, they are caught in a greater conflict that will change the future.(Renamed from redemption due to it being taken)
1. Chapter 1

**War... War never changes.**

* * *

 **When nuclear hellfire rained across the world** , untold billions perished as a result of the bitter struggle over the last drops of oil. Many were instantly vaporized, perhaps a preferable end as those who withstood the blast either died a painful and drawnout death from radiation of became reminiscent of the walking corpses from hollywood movies. What was left of humanity lived on in specialized underground habitats that were marketed before the apocalypse to be safe havens. In actuality, they were cruel social experimention facilities designed to subjugate its inhabitants to the stresses of isolation for the actual beneficiaries of the whole ordeal: The Enclave. The Enclave decided that the apocalypse was inevitable and embraced the idea that if they, the important people of the time, survived, then so to would America. The deaths and torment of the test subjects would be a neccessary sacrifice for the future of democracy. However, though The Enclave did expect the irrelevent masses to not take kindly to this, they did not take into account the possibilty of them being able to fight back. As their main headquarters on the east coast was destroyed by an individual known only in NCR records as "The Chosen One", a majority of the survivors headed east to regroup and recover in the nation's old capital.

The Brotherhood of Steel, a heavily-armed technology hoarding knightly order descended from pre-war military, had also sent a party to the capital. The reasoning behind this being that the place, as the former capital of a nation that waged and won many wars since its conception through technological might, must have some powerful and arcane weapons, armor, and other military goodies to reclaim, restore, and protect from the unintelligent and undeserving savages of the wasteland. Unfortunately, (in the eyes of the High Elders of the West Coast Brotherhood) the Elder in charge of this expedition, Owyn Lyons, had taken a liking to the savages inhabiting the Capital Wasteland and changed the mission to fighting raiders and slavers, eradicating the Supermutant scourge, and improving the life of the average wastelander through the supply of pure water. He had also began recruiting from the local population, not by requiring them to preform some great act of service beforehand but by accepting and immediately training anyone with the eagerness to bring peace to the land and the skills to help contribute to it. Believing Lyons to be a traitor, the West Coast cut off supplies and communications to the Capital. The Mutants were killed, the raiders and slavers were eradicated, Talon Company was driven out, many damsels were saved, and The Enclave was discovered and defeated once again.

* * *

 **This happy ending was not to last** as Owyn Lyons died of natural causes. His daughter and successor, Sarah Lyons, was KIA soon afterwards. A series of ineffectual elders later, and the leadership role fell into the hands of a 16-year-old Arthur Maxson. Arthur the last descendant of the fabled Roger Maxson, the original founder and leader of the Brotherhood. He proved his worth quickly as he was an exceptionnal warrior and diplomat. His first achievements were defeating the Supermutant leader Sheperd, and brokering a peace between the Brotherhood Outcasts and brought them back into the fold. His most notable achievements were abandoning Lyon's mission of nation-building and civilian protection to focus more on threats like the mysterious Institute reported to be north in The Commonwealth. Thus the people of the wasteland had been left to fend for themselves once again. Many were less than displeased by this, and not all of them were just average wastelanders.

As there were paladins, knights, and scribes that disliked Elder Lyons' decision to reach out to the people of the wasteland. There where those who genuinely approved of protecting the innocent and were vocal about the decision to leave to fate. These members however, were a small minority and were only taken seriously when they decided to start disobeying orders and abandoning their posts to safeguard people in need. Arthur Maxson was in a predicament about this. He knew that the soldiers just wanted to do what was right and save the wasteland, just as he was raised to do under Lyons leadership. However, he believed that the best way was to seekout and destroy threats before they make themselves known rather than dealing with them as they come. If he simply regulated them to menial tasks they would just sneak off to play the hero, and if he kept them in the brig it would be a waste of their skills. What was also problematic was that the rest of the chapter have began to idolize Arthur, some to the point of worship, and the threat of _"friendly fire"_ , _"misfires"_ , or other weapon-handling related _"accidents"_ happening to the insubordinates grew with each day.

* * *

 **Thus Elder Maxson decided that the best course of action** was to exile the upstarts on the condition that they can return if they scout out the remains of the East Central, Texas, Gulf, and South East Commonwealths in that order and see if they can re-establish connection with the Chapters that where sent to the areas. If they succeded, then they would have knowledge of what would await them after they've dealt with the Institute and the experiance should expose the horrors of the wasteland to the exiles and make them more subordinate to the codex and his command. If they fail, it would just confirm the dangers the places held and strengthen resolve to eliminate any and all threats to humanity they can find.

These Exiles went off to prove their worth to the brotherhood and the strength of their convictions. They have no idea of the battles to come and the events to transpire. In their quest, they will determine the fates of countless people and multiple factions in the wastelands. For in this world, blood will be spilled, lives would be lost, dreams will disappear or be realized, and war... war never changes...


	2. Chapter 2: The Trek

It was a hot, bright day in the Kentucky Wasteland. The sunlight shining brightly off the T45d power armor of the Paladins and Knights in the expedition force. They were followed up by Initiates in their recon armor armed with assault rifles and the Scribes who were carrying everything they needed to document whatever arcane artifacts of the dead empire of America they could discover. While this would have been an awe-inspiring sight in most circumstances, this was not any of them. The Paladins, Knights, Scribes, and Initiates were all carrying what they needed to make the long trek across the four former commonwealths. This included food, not all of it was properly cooked or preserved. Some of it had begun to rot and befoul the air, with the heat accelerating the process and worsening the stench. They were carrying more than food, plentiful ammo and an assortment of weapons and explosives for defense against whatever awaited them. They only had two adult brahmin with them as well as one brahmin calf.

Elder Maxson said they could take what weapons they thought was necessary for the trip, knowing that this would incite them to take the biggest guns they could and all the ammo they thought was needed. The idea was to show them how brash and inexperienced they were from their own decisions. The expedition had more heavy weapons than it had troops authorized to used them, with the excess slung over the brahmins' backs just in case they needed them. With miniguns and missile launchers taking up carrying capacity, it was up to the Initiates and Scribes to carry the rest. The Initiates and Aspirants were mainly recruited wastelanders and had not built up the strength to carry more than their own needs, and the Scribes were what the name implied; researchers, engineers, and historians and thus not fit for heavy labor. As an act of good faith, Elder Maxson had given the Paladins' and the Knights' armors total repairs for maximum protection and extended condition span with a really shiny new chrome finish. Although the Paladins and Knights had enjoyed looking brand-new at first, they were now paranoid now that they are very well outside Brotherhood territory. Their armor shined brightly under the sun and made them visible to potential hostiles for miles. The noise from the mutant animals disturbed from their marching would certainly catch someones attention if they missed the bright lights. The armor also constantly reflected light into the eyes of the Initiates and Scribes, adding to their annoyance. This was actually more of an oversight from Maxson than anything else as he thought the sight of shining armored giants would pacify whoever saw them.

* * *

"This. Sucks. Ghoul nuts!" Knight Martin loudly declares. His carrying capacity of 280 was close its limit by just one point.

"We know, Martin." Scribe Marleen groaned, although she was carrying considerably lighter than Martin, she was tired, not from the trek or the weight but from hearing his complaints like everyone else in the group.

"Why did he only give us two brahmin and a calf?!"

"Maybe they needed the rest were needed elsewhere."

"Bull****, they have a fleet of vertibirds now!"

"If we decided to fly a vertibird every time we needed to go around the block..."

"This isn't across some ****ing street-"

"It's across nine ****ing states, we know already!" Everyone around loudly groaned in unison.

"Stop. Complaining. Like ****ing. Pre-war. Spoiled. BRAT ALREADY!" Paladin Bradley, the Paladin in charge yelled. He had been hearing non-stop whining from the entire group (a good percent of which came from Martin alone) ever since the start of this endeavor. He may be in charge but that doesn't mean that he was chosen for being level-headed and calm under pressure. This group is made out of dissidents and what not, and he is no exception. So you can expect them all to be less reserved and disciplined than the Brotherhood proper.

"Hey, I have the right to complain!" the Knight protested.

"You've been complaining ever since we stepped out of the Citadel, you brainless oaf!" Scribe Alfred retorted.

"We used to vocally agree with you at first, but now it's getting very annoying..." Marleen said.

"Do ghouls even have nuts?" some initiate asked.

"Why are you curious-"

"SHUT UP! EVERYONE! JUST! SHUT! UP! FOR A MINUTE AT LEAST! IF SOMEONE TALKS BEFORE THAT'S UP **I'M GOING TO GO INSANE!** " Bradley bellowed.

51 seconds silently pass...

"So are-" said by an initiate.

"OH MY GOD WHAT!? WHAT!? IT HASN'T EVEN BEEN A MINUTE YET WHAT DO YOU WANT!? *INHALES* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhh..."

"... are yo-"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhh..."

"uh-"

" **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAAAAHHH! AAAAAAHHHH! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhh...** "

The rest of the group started slowing down at the lapse of Bradley's sanity. The other Paladins have begun to back off as well. It wasn't hard for some to imagine Bradley was literaly foaming at the mouth. In fact, with the wet gutteral noises he's making while screaming, and that his voice is going deeper, its seemed like he was either mutating or ghoulifiying underneath his armor.

* * *

Four minutes of screaming followed up with 11 minutes of awkward silent marching later.

"You okay?" Scribe Marleen asked through . She was concerned about his well being and would have asked earlier, but was afraid that he had lost it and would roar at the slightest noise. She also imagined the small possibility of him turning on them and attacking on the spot if that were true.

"Urg- *cough* *hack* *cough*... yeah I...*cough* I could you some water..." Bradley said in a tired tone. "So what was it you were going to ask before-..."

He turned around and saw that he was so far from the rest of the group that they looked the size of pre-war plastic army men toys.

"Why are you so far back?!" Bradley asked.

"With all the screaming and inhuman gurgling you were making, we figured we'd give you some space." Paladin Vanessa stated with a smile under her helmet.

"Well, before you started doing an impression of a flaming Super Mutant's battlecry, I was going to ask if we're going the right way." Initiate Bob asked.

"Argh, hang on, let me check the map." He pulled a pre-war paper map from his inventory and began unfolding it as he walked back towards them.

"And here's another thing-"

"If you say one more thing, Martin, I'm going to punch you in the faceplate so hard, it will cave in and break your teeth!"

"I have a question, sir." Initiate Bob said, arm raised like a school boy asking for something.

"What?"

"How come we were given a paper map rather than a pip-boy that had one?"

"Thats a good question, to which ' _to **** with us_ ' is most likely the answer"

"Hey, that was what I was going to ask!" Martin loudly stated.

At this, Paladin Bradley threw down the map and charged at the annoying knight. He knocked Martin off his feet and pinned him to the ground, smashing against Martin's helmet with his fists. Unbeknownst to any of the exiles, they were being watched from afar. Three tribal scouts had been observing them, shadows and camoflage paint diguising them in the environment. They slowly slinked away, to behind the foliage, before running off to the wilderness.

"We must tell the others." the scout leader said.

"We must tell the chieftains, and the other tribes, of their coming. We must tell that the Metal Brothers have arrived."


	3. Chapter 3: The Food conundrum

The sound of metal pounding on metal ceased when a duo of knights pulled the Paladin off the Knight that had spent the entire journey up to this point giving everyone within earshot a headache.

"Cut it out man, we need him alive for the mission!" The Knight restraining Bradley's right arm said.

Paladin Bradley started to shake them off, the limited agility of his T-45 hindering him "He has done nothing but complain this entire trip! What can he to actually contribute?!" He spat.

"Well, we could use him as a human shield or a distraction when the need arises" The Knight restraining Bradley's left suggested.

"Oh, you have got to be ****ing kidding me!" Martin said as he stood back up, feeling his faceplate for any damage and felt quite a few dents in it.

"Naw I serious, the enemy will surely focus on you given how annoying you are." The knight said, her voice giving no indication of humor.

"**** you!" Martin spat.

"Fighting each other wont get us anywhere! We need to focus on the problems at hand." Scribe Marleen stated. They had just crossed the Kentucky border and already they're fighting each other. Marleen believed that, at this rate they'll fall apart.

"Yeah, like taking care of the smell..." Bob said as he waved away the stench from his nose.

"What smell?" Knight Martin said as he took off his helmet to investigate, revealing his shaved head and scarred face, "Ugh! Where is that coming from?!"

The other knights took their helmets off to sniff the air before gaging and placing them back on.

"It's coming from the brahmin." Scribe Nate said, pointing to their beasts of burden.

"Well that explains it, eugh... the heat must be making them decay faster or something." Martin said as he secured his helmet onto his head.

The only knight that kept his helmet off was the man that helped restrained Bradley.

"No its not, I was raised on a brahmin ranch and I'll tell you," he said as he approuched the cargo bags the mutant cows were carrying, "Brahmin aren't like ghouls, they don't-" He opened the pack containing the food, "EURGH! DECAY!" he yelled as the smell pushed him back.

Everyone who wasn't wearing something to filter the air they breath was taken aback by the stench and backed away from the brahmin. Scribe Alfred could swear he could see that the odor had color.

"All our food's rotten!"

"Who's the idiot in charge of our food?" Martin asked, looking for someone to blame. He noticed everyone was looking at him angrily. "What?!... oh... right."

"This is just great!" Bradley yelled sarcasticaly. "Probably half of our food has rotten, and the rest are contaminated!"

"We can still survive, there are plenty of flora and fauna around, maybe we can use them for food?" Initiate Bob suggeted, hoping to stop the situation from escalating to violence.

"I can cook any meat we collect and make sure it'll last much longer." The former rancher proclaimed.

"Good, we'll form hunting and foraging parties and look for edibles while a few will wait here and guard the brahmin," Paladin Bradley declared in a much calmer tone. "Someone also has to thoroughly wash the bags to eliminate the germs. We'll meet back here in three hours, but first we must dump all the rotten food somewhere, it's attracting scavengers"

Bradley pointed to the sky, several radvultures were circling above them. The two headed birds were waiting for their meals.

"I feel sorry for the saps who have to sta-." Martin smuggly said.

"You're one of those saps Martin! You, Sanchez, Mac, and Belle will stay here, in fact you get to clean the bags"

"What?! Why can't I hunt?"

"Your motor-mouth will scare away any animal long before we even see them, consider this disciplinary action."

* * *

Sergeant Stuart was at his usual station, the military check point on Interstate Highway 55 in Arkansas, near Blytheville. He stayed there since the bombs fell, his squad was escorting some scientists to the vault in the New England Commonwealth. He had great and promising career ahead of him in the army. He was to be the first of a long line of soldiers, his image would have been everywhere, his deeds and accomplishments would have been the talk the country. He would have been doing the thing he was made for and have secured America's dominance over the vile communists of the eurasian continent if the bombs hadn't fell.

But they did, and everything he dreamed about was shattered with the rest of his nation that he oh so loved. His squadmates either died initially or slowly morphed into ghouls and later turned feral out of grief and anguish. Now Stuart just paces back and forth between the sides of the road, waiting. Waiting for someone to come, maybe a remnant of the pre-apocalypse military, or maybe an army of a new nation that's built on old world values to come and recruit him for his skills. So far the only one who came were either mutant animals or Carnage Carl wanabees. Sometimes he just wishes to just lay down and give up, but he's a soldier. He's made of sterner stuff than normal men. He has a duty to preform and that means keeping his homeland (or what's left of it) safe from enemies both within and without. So he'll stay there, beside his overturned and wrecked convoy, surrounded by skeletons of his men and citizens he swore to protect. He will stand guard in irradiated rain, in nuclear winter, in the blazing sun. He will hold off the raiders and savages, the mutants and abominations. He will stand guard until someone, anyone, with a military or political background. Someone who dreams as he does to rebuild his homeland comes and takes him away from here so he can make that dream a reality.


	4. Chapter 4

It was 2:11 and the weather has become very cloudy, much to the relief of the Exiles, half of whom had been producing fountains of sweat. They had hunted, foraged, and scavenged, for edibles for three hours. They had returned with all that they could find in the wilderness. . However, when they returned, they found half the bags that used to store food missing and Martin and Sanchez where nowhere to be found. At this, Paladin Bradley was angered.

"I told you trouts to guard the caravan! Where did the other two go?!"

The Knight Belle immediatly answered, "Martin went off to find a place to wash the bags, with Sanchez behind him. said they didn't want to waste the water we had."

"Smart to bring the neat-freak but did they even know where to find running water?"

"Well, a while after you left, when Martin started complaining," the Knight named Mac said complaining disdain "Some tribal came up and started conversing with us and asking questions like: 'What are your names?' and 'What is your quest?' and-."

"Whoa, wait hold on, I know where this is going." Bradley spat "Some guy in a dirty loincloth and a wacky headpiece walked up to you, said some funny words, and then beckoned to those idiots to follow him to who-knows-where for water."

"Affirmative sir." They said in unison. The rest of the exiles were already starting to cook their meat to remove the rads as the conversation went.

"And they just walked along with the man, who for all we know could be a rapist cannible, to what is most likely a trap, carrying nothing with them but armor on their backs and cleaning ustensils."

"What else would you expect from Martin?"

"How he managed to survive up to this point is beyond me..." Bradley gravely mumbled as he covered his faceplate with his armored palm. "Well, hopefully the tribes didn't damage his suit too much when they killed him, What direction did they go?"

"Oh! They went over..." Belle looked to her right and outstretched her arm to point "there..." she finished with a dreary and disappointed tone.

Making their way from the direction she pointed were Martin and Sanchez, carrying a lot more bags than when they left. They casually strode into the camp. Martin unceremoniously dropped the bags at Bradley's feet while Sanchez continued to look around for a less dirty place for the bags he spent so much time cleaning.

"I don't like your attitude soldier." Bradley said spitefully.

"Raurrrgh. I didn't even say anything?! The ****ing bags are clean! I spent hours scrubbing the smell out! Did some traces of soap remain on the burlap and coagulated into middle fingers or something?" Martin spat irritably "... 'Cause that'd be funny actually..." he added in a calmer manner.

"You just dropped the bags onto the dirt! They're filthy again you radroach brained retard!"

"Are you telling me the food will be strapped to the outside rather than put inside?" Martin asked, his words dripping with spite and sarcasm, "And its only dust, not mud or ****, just brush it off!"

"Must you two always argue like an old married couple that's been pumped with psycho?" a scribe asked, clearly having had enough of this.

"Shuddap scribe!" The two retorted in unison.

"It's true though, you should stop looking to fight each other! This is exactly what Maxson wants, for us to collapse and paint our failure as a reason for people to obey him." Marleen hoped that this could at least get them to stop fighting for a while.

Moments passed, the meat was being cooked and cured. The various food, hides and other items such as claws, bones, and eggs were being examined, then if deemed valuable and not a hazard, catalogued and sorted.

"She's right ya know." Martin finally said.

"I know," Bradley grumbled.

"Good, you two agree on something, no please let us work together on the task at hand. Which is surviving and continuing the mission, if only to spite Maxson."

The bags and containers both old and new, were divided by size and type, and then labeled and grouped together as to what they would contain. The food bags were designated to contain either meat or plants, and were further divided as to what meat or plant they should contain, such as what animal or plant it came from and its size. Hides were tightly rolled up and sorted by the different animals they were made of, the same went for the teeth, claws, and bones.

"Well, that's the first problem to be solved but now we have another," Bradley announced, "We have plenty of food and storage, but not enough muscle to carry them."

"That means we're going to either soon find a way to carry more than we currently can or we leave some things behind." Bradley continued.

"I say we leave the hides and bones, whose idea was to skin the animals too anyway?" one of the initiates asked.

"It was mine, I figured since we can't just wait for supplies, we're going to have to provided for ourselves and have something to trade to others for whatever." A knight answered.

"Where did you even get the bags Martin?"

"Oh, the guy who led me to the place to clean the bags and containers gave me extra as a token of good will. He also said he'll meet me later once he got his friends or something."

"Wait, he's bringing his friends? What if he did that to let your guard down for an ambush?!" Bradley remarked

"Mister, we're all wearing power armor, what's some arrow shooting tribal going to do other than scratch the paint?"

"On of Maxson's ancestors thought the same until he died from a shot to the head."

"They can make arrows that penetrate our helmets?!" Martin was utterly shocked

"No, he had his helmet off at the time."

"Oh... well unless he or one of his friends is a crack shot, I doubt they can shoot me in the eye." Martin said as he pointed to the broken eyeslit Bradley gave him.

"Well, I guess we still have to be prepared for when they arrive regardless." Bradley headed to a near by stump to sit down.

"Everyone," Bradley announced to the rest of the exiles, who had just finished eating, "We have some tribals coming over, I want you all to be prepared for the possibility of an attack."

"Why would you immediately assume the worst?" Martin asked, "I mean they did help with cleaning the containers after all."

"We have to be prepared for the worst at all times, you don't want to be caught off guard when something horrible arrives." Bradley said, "Especially when dealing with tribal cultures and self serving primitives"

Martin then pointed past Bradley, "Their standing right behind you"

"Welcome brothers of steel!" a voice loudly announced.

"What the hell?!" Bradley jumped from the stump and turned around.

"We welcome you to our lands and invite you to meet with our cheiftains."


End file.
